Wishful Thinking
by diamondpearl876
Summary: Satoshi would never admit to anyone--not even himself, sometimes--that he wished he didn't have to turn down every girl who invited him out on a date.


Written for 30_ballads. Prompt: Putting holes in happiness.

I own nothing.

Wishful Thinking

Satoshi would never admit to anyone--not even himself, sometimes--that he wished he didn't have to turn down every girl who invited him out on a date.

"Um... Satoshi...? Would you... Would you... like to go on a date with me?" they would ask, face burning red from embarrassment. He told them out loud that he wasn't interested, and told them on the inside that his heart didn't know the first thing about expressing any kind of emotion toward others besides false hatred, so they shouldn't waste their time on him. And he always watched them walk away toward their friends, who were all prepared to hear what they had to say.

(He just wanted someone to become close to him, to understand him and believe in him, forever and ever and ever.)

"I... I know it's sudden, but, would you like to go see a movie sometime?" they would ask, tears ready to storm down their faces. He told them out loud that he was sorry, but he was busy with other plans, and told them on the inside that if they didn't want to be destroyed, then fleeing would be the best option. And he always watched them walk away, knowing that if circumstances were different, he could have put a smile on their faces, and maybe his own.

(He just wanted to feel like belonged somewhere without having to convince himself that he didn't really care, that the future could offer nothing for him.)

"Satoshi! If you're not doing anything, I'd love to go somewhere with you! It doesn't matter where. Is there anywere you'd like to go sometime?" they would ask, grinning from ear to ear. He told them nothing out loud, and told them on the inside that he never wanted to hear someone laugh at his jokes, smile at his joy, or try and help him with anything, because it would end in destruction and turmoil. And he always watched them walk away, a determined look on their faces that told him that they would, unfortunately, return.

(He just wanted to believe that things like happiness and love and hearts without holes placed in them did exist, that they weren't just a fairy tale.)

"I'm so sorry," he told himself again and again in a rare moment of weakness, his face buried in his hands. His skin was cold and hard, and he thought it suit him well, and that he never deserved to feel anything soothing or warm or enlightening, like a hand or a face belonging to someone he truly desired. He could wish upon a star or wish for it when he blew out birthday candles, wish for it at any time of the day or any time of the night, and it would never, never happen.

(And he wanted to see if he could find what he was looking for in any of these young women.)

"I'm... so... sorry," he told himself again and again, and he collapsed on his bed, instantly allowing darkness to consume him. He hoped he never woke up again, and stayed in his dream world consisting of what he had always wished he possessed. In his dream world, there was no other side of him. In his dream world, he didn't feel bound by chains all of the time. And because of this, he didn't want to wake up, since he knew it would remind him of reality. It would remind him that he was heartless at best, and of what he was destined to be.

(But Satoshi knew he couldn't have what he wanted.)

"Why? Why? Why?" he asked himself again and again when he opened his eyes once again. He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks, and he could feel yet another small piece of something breaking in his chest. He stood up, thinking that the weight of the world was trying to crush him and punish him. Finally, he looked out the window, cursing everyone and anything he possibly could, just so he could try and believe believe that it wasn't him who created the monster he was, and the monster he would be between now and forever.

(And so, he pushed all the girls away.)


End file.
